


Will That Be All?

by Sherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Actors, F/M, Let's go with that, M/M, Or maybe Harvey is to Sherlock as Donna is to Irene., PA, TV Show, Tony is to Sherlock as Pepper is to Irene, not canon!Irene, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlocked/pseuds/Sherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I do anything and everything Mr. Holmes requires. Including, occasionally, taking out the trash. Yes, you, Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to particularscarf, my beta and cheerleader.

Irene Adler had true auburn hair, light purple eyes, and was beautiful. Despite this, she never had the glitteriest of lives, but hey, at least she was good at it.

Irene was also good at the aspect of her life that consisted of running her bosses, a film star of particular talent (while curiously lacking people skills, time management, or any other skills men in their mid thirties probably should have). She stood out from others around her in similar professions to hers in that she was American (as others who worked for her bosses co-workers were British, like her boss and his co-workers) and that she had her boss wrapped around her little finger (More than the aforementioned other PAs. For most people, you lose your PA, your schedule was screwed for a while. If Irene left her boss, he’d keep his schedule, but loose her, and he probably wouldn’t survive that.).

Irene came into work that morning carrying a coffee carrier with two coffees, a plastic bag around her wrist, and a large bag looped around her shoulder while carefully explaining to the press executive that _no_ , her boss was not interested in helping them sell cereal. She did that till she almost got to his dressing room, when she heard raised voices. She carefully hung up, took a deep breath, and walked in.

“Sherlock Holmes, calm _down_ , it’s too early for this crap.” Sherlock whirled around, and she took him in. Impeccably dressed, drop dead gorgeous, and gone _completely_ apeshit. This is probably why Irene should drink her coffee _before_ coming to the office, because there were some things you Did Not Do before coffee.

“He-”

“Shush, I know.” She put down the plastic bag, carrier, and cell and crossed her arms at the producer/director in the three piece suit sitting in the chair facing the door.

“Mycroft.” He cocked his head.

“Yes, Irene?”

“If you do this again, the next time he flies off the handle, I’m taking the rest of the day off.” Mycroft looked unperturbed.

“And?”

“And I’ll take John with me.” At the mention of his Production Manager, Mycroft blanched, and Sherlock (who’d been annoyed that Irene was using a temper tantrum that he _wouldn’t have_ [If Irene had heard this, she’d have snorted. If she were drinking something, it’d come out of her nose.]) smirked. Mycroft got up, straightened his suit, and walked out of the room with the quiet gravitas of someone who just got his ass kicked.

The room was quiet as Irene clicked over to the empty chair and dropping her bag onto it, her trench coat following it.

“I didn’t start it.” She turned and bit her lip so she wouldn’t smile. Sherlock looked like a four year old who thought he was about to get in trouble.

A 6’, drop-dead gorgeous four year old, but whatever. Semantics.

“I know.”

“He started it.”

“I know. Sherlock.”

“I told him to leave.”

“ _Sherlock_.” He looked up. “‘S not your fault. Breakfast?” He straightened up, and Irene pretended to ignore the flash of relief as she walked past to the plastic bag.

“What is it?”

“Everything bagel, scallion cream cheese.” She handed him a paper wrapped circle and a coffee before kicking up onto the table in front of the mirror, Sherlock sitting in the chair facing the mirror next to her. She readjusted her seat so her skirt would stay taunt, so when she unwrapped her own bagel would stay where she put it. She sipped her coffee and picked up her phone, tapping the screen repeatedly.

“Alright, we got a busy day today...”


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock Holmes was an interesting man. He was a British actor who, while not handsome in most traditional respects, was handsome in a way that left the majority of the world’s population (regardless of sexuality or gender) hopelessly infatuated by him and the character he played in his tv show (Benedict Cumberbatch, an actor). The crew of the show was quietly known as the 221Bs, as they had a Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Irene Adler, Mary Morstan, Mycroft Holmes, and Greg Lestrade.

He (Sherlock) had acted for years, starting in small roles in his prestigious public school, to bigger roles at University (where he was a Chemistry major, with a minor in criminal science) before abruptly changing tracks and going into an acting school in London. The majority of his fandom was of the opinion was that he’d realized that, being a man called Sherlock Holmes, he really couldn’t solve anything without attracting a large amount of disbelief.

No matter what was said about his manners or his attitude, everyone agreed that he was an excellent actor. Most people who knew of the aforementioned character flaws (as he was smart enough to act in front of civilians) agreed that his acting made up for them. There were some, however, who didn’t.

Sally Donovan and her PA definitely didn’t, and Irene was _thisclose_ to killing both of them.

“I appreciate, alright, that some people don’t like Sherlock.” Her roommate, Mary (who played Gugu Mbatha-Raw, an actor friend of Benedict’s. Irene thought this was the awesomest name _ever_.) hid her smile in a forkful of takeout. “What I _don’t_ appreciate are a couple of fucking _morons_ putting him down in some mad quest to get him off his high horse.”

“Irene?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you think this could, possibly, be a backlash from when you had a crush on Sherlock?”

“Oh, for the _love_ of _god_ , _no_. I got over him about 15 _seconds _after I started working with him, Mary. I wouldn’t have lasted this long if I hadn’t.”__

__“4 years, isn’t that a record?”_ _

__“Yeah, the longest one has stayed before me is 2 and a half months.”_ _

__“Hmmm...” The way Mary said it made Irene look up, and then roll her eyes._ _

__“ _No_ , Mary, he isn’t secretly enamored with me. And if he is, which I really and _very much sincerely _doubt, then it’s such a good secret _he_ doesn’t know it.”___ _


	3. Chapter 3

Irene and Sherlock had a complicated relationship. Like, _really_ complicated. It was much easier to just let people watch and make of it what they would instead of trying to explain it to them.

(And she had tried many, _many_ times. To friends, and to people Sherlock knew in college. The former raised an eyebrow at her, making clear that they were wondering if she knew it was that obvious that she was trying to cover up an affair with her boss. The latter always laughed and brushed aside her explanations, telling her it was no use covering up for Sherlock, they already hated him. Sherlock treated the first group with amusement and the second one with contempt [and hurt, though he hid that much better]. Whichever it was, however, he and Irene interacted as they always did. Maybe the first group held on to their opinions of her sex life, but at least the second was left gaping like a fish out of water.)

Some people said it was defined by how they first met, and Irene sort of had to admit that, yeah, maybe there was some truth to that.

(She’d been out of college a couple years, and had already gotten a job and left it, as Mr Halloway’s roaming hands were not made up for by the large checks Mr Halloway’s company gave her. She filled in her large expanses of unfilled time helping out at her brother’s job, mostly moving actors into the studio. It’d been a long day, and she was bored, tired, and hungry. She almost snarled at John when she came back, ready to go to lunch, and he pointed at a box and said, “221. Go.”

“I’m _starving_. I _need_ a break.”

“You can take one. _After_ you take this to 221.” She growled low in her throat before picking up the box and going back down the corridor, planning a hundred and one different ways she could kill her brother.

She groaned as a hole in her well-worn jeans got caught around the heel of her sneakers _again _, causing her to limp slightly as she got to the room and opened the door, putting down the box before balancing on it so she could unhook her jeans. She seemed to have come into the tail end of an argument.__

__“-So just fuck _off_.”_ _

__It was actually lucky that she had taken the second to unhook her jeans, because if she hadn’t, Irene and Sherlock would have had a _very_ different first meeting._ _

__As it was, a glass shattered over Irene’s head, showering her in glass fragments. The room froze as she slowly straightened up. It was about here when Irene saw red._ _

__5 minutes of screaming later, she was being held back by John and Mary while the guy with the dark brown hair was being held back by the man he’d been fighting with and the stunt coordinator._ _

__Both stopped to catch their breaths, glaring at each other from across the room. It was him who broke the silence._ _

__“Who are you, anyway?”_ _

__“Irene Adler. No jokes, I’ve heard them all before.” The guy seemed stunned._ _

__“No, it’s- I’m Sherlock Holmes.” Irene blinked._ _

__“You’re joking.”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“And your brother-” Sherlock pointed at the man he’d been having the fight with._ _

__“Mycroft.” He pointed at the stunt coordinator. “Lestrade.”_ _

__“Wow.” She gestured to her right, “John Watson,” And to her left, “Mary Morstan.”_ _

__“Oh, I know him.”_ _

__“Really?”_ _

__“He’s my roommate.” Irene turned to John with raised eyebrows._ _

__“So _that’s _why you wouldn’t tell me who your roommate was.”___ _

____“Would you happen to need a job?” Irene turned back to Sherlock._ _ _ _

____“No. But,” She cocked her head at him, “I do need something to do.”_ _ _ _

____A ghost of a smile flashed across his face and he tossed a card across the gap, Irene catching it with a raised eyebrow._ _ _ _

____“Call me.” With that, he swept out of the room, a suitably stunned Mycroft and Lestrade following him._ _ _ _

____Irene, surrounded by her own suitably stunned duet, eyed the card with a grin that forced its way through her low blood sugar._ _ _ _

____“Cool.”_ _ _ _

____And then then just...clicked. Irene [whose eyes had widened at the size of the paycheck she’d gotten] wore clothes that were just as professional-but-slutty as Sherlock did, managed to get Sherlock everywhere on time [or at least close enough that no one complained] and managed to become friends with Sherlock while still instilling the Fear of Adler in him.)_ _ _ _

____What actually defined their relationship (as far as Irene was concerned) was when the press junkets started for the show._ _ _ _

____(It was their first interview, and Irene was on the phone with the next place to make sure the man with the girlfriend, two wives, and two kids [with another on the way] wouldn’t come anywhere near Sherlock [again] when a production coordinator ran up, flustered and hyperventilating because Mr Holmes was nowhere to be found and his dressing room was locked and he was on in five minutes!_ _ _ _

____Irene just managed _not_ to ask if she was on speed, instead assuring her that all would be well. She shooed away the group of assorted backstage crew members group in front of Sherlock’s room and, after making sure the coast was clear, picked the lock and went inside._ _ _ _

____After locking the door behind her, she walked over to the mirror, getting between it and the huddled ball of employer in the makeup chair._ _ _ _

____“What’s up?” His answer was muffled by his knees. “Excuse me?”_ _ _ _

____“What if they don’t like me?”_ _ _ _

____Now, depending on who this question was directed to, there were a number of different ways to answer it:_ _ _ _

______Mycroft- Laugh at Sherlock before telling him to man up and get out there.  
Mary- Be awkwardly supportive before telling him to man up and get out there.  
John/Lestrade- Be awkwardly supportive, and find a way for Sherlock to deal, maybe get him on late if he didn’t guilt them into getting him out of it entirely.  
Irene- Pull his chin out of his knees and say the following;_ _

____“Just be Benedict.”_ _ _ _

____“What?”_ _ _ _

____“You heard me. Be him with just enough of yourself to make it believable. They’ll be head-over-heels in no time.”_ _ _ _

____“Really?”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah. Now, get your shit together, you gotta show to do. You’re giving everyone heart attacks before the age of 40. Except Clarissa, no matter what she says.”_ _ _ _

____Sherlock smirked as he unfolded and fixed his suit before strolling out of his dressing room, where he was immediately swarmed by Hair and Makeup, followed by Sound. Irene, carrying all their stuff to enable a quick getaway, watched from the sidelines, smiling calmly._ _ _ _

____[5 minutes into the interview, he was the sweetheart of the BBC. By the next day, he was the world’s. If he glanced backstage every once and awhile, no one noticed.]_ _ _ _

____It was the first time Sherlock took Irene’s advice._ _ _ _

____[At the show’s Christmas party a few weeks later, her anonymous gift was a simple diamond bracelet and diamond studs from Tiffany’s. Sherlock denied any connection, but that didn’t stop Irene from hugging him, or stop the blush that crept up his cheek bones.]_ _ _ _

____It wasn’t the last.)_ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

Irene knocked on the door of 221B, and smiled at Mrs Hudson when she opened the door.

“Oh, thank god.”

“Mrs Hudson?”

“That boy is sulking. I love him, Irene, you know I do, but if you do not get him out of this house, I will murder him myself.”

“Yes, Mrs Hudson.”

Irene clicked up the stairs, hiking her skirt up slightly (as pencil skirts were really not made for stairs) and walked into the flat.

It was a testament of how well she knew Sherlock that she only raised an eyebrow at him spread out across his chair with a gun in his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Bored.”

“That isn’t an answer, Sherlock.”

“Fine, I’m shooting a wall.”

“Mrs Hudson’ll kill you.”

“And?”

“Well, if I were you, I’d go and get ready for work so it won’t be me and Mrs Hudson who’re going to kill you.”

“What about everyone else on set?”

“Sherlock, you and I both know that there are only three people in the world you’re scared of, and two of them are me and Mrs Hudson.”

“And the other?”

“Is your mother. Now go get dressed.” Sherlock heaved himself up with a sigh and flounced out, tossing the gun to her as he went. Irene put it back in its ‘hiding place’ (really, who did John think he was kidding?) before looking at the pattern Sherlock had shot into the wall. She glanced over when he swept in, immaculate, to retrieve his outerwear.

“You were bored?”

“Yes.”

“So you took it out on the wall?”

“The wall had it coming.” Irene snickered, and walked over, leading the way downstairs.

“‘My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go.’”

“Who's that?”

“Wilde.”

“Ah. What are we doing today?”

“Well...”


	5. Chapter 5

It was before a shoot, and everyone had been on time and ready to start for once except Molly, Sherlock’s makeup artist.

Which was odd, because Molly was _always_ on time.

When Molly did come, she looked close to tears. Sherlock went from annoyed/bored to murderous in barely any time at all.

5 minutes later, Sherlock and Irene were stalking on set and over to Donovan and Anderson. Sherlock tried to lunge at them, but was stopped by Irene. She walked past him and decked Anderson, causing him to fly backwards, cradling his nose.

“You _bastard_.”

“What the hell did you do that for!”

“I did that because you threatened not only Molly’s job, but _Molly_ , if she didn’t do what you wanted her to, which _isn’t_ her job. And _you_ ,” She wheeled on Donovan, “Should be ashamed for letting him get away with it.” Sally tried to sneer.

“And what can you do about it?” Her expression faltered when Irene smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile.

“Sweetie, let’s put this in perspective: you? Are an actor. You’ve been in minor roles before this. If the writers decide to write you out, you have to go find another job, which probably won’t be easy and definitely won’t get easier when this starts moving through the industry. Now me, I’m a PA. Even better, I’m _his_ PA.” Sherlock grinned evilly. “I’m invaluable. They wouldn’t fire me if their lives depended on it. Now, with that in mind, which one of us is expendable?” With that, she turned and herded Sherlock back to his dressing room, leaving Donovan and Anderson in the middle of a room full of production crew who suddenly didn’t like them _at all_.

As they were filming later, John walked over to Irene, who had a ice pack taped to her hand.

“So, I heard it’s going to turn out that Vinette was having an affair with Jonathan, they have big row, and both leave the show. Vinette goes on Geordie Shore and Jonathan goes to France.”

“Really.”

“Mmm.”

“Would this, by any chance, have anything to do with Mike’s ginourmous crush on Molly?”

“Maybe.”

Irene grinned at John, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leaning against him.

“You’re my _favoritest brother_ ever.”

“I’m your _only_ brother.”

“That too.”


	6. Chapter 6

During shooting one day, Irene’s phone vibrated. Distractedly (Sherlock was a very good actor on screen. In person, he was exquisite.) she pulled out her phone and glanced down at the email she’d gotten.

She had to slap her hand over her mouth to stop the not-noise from coming out of her mouth.

As quietly as she could in heels, she whispered to Molly to tell Sherlock she’d be back if she wasn’t before the end of the scene and left, making a beeline for John’s office.

He was sitting in his chair with an equally terrified look on his face.

“Did you-”

“Yes.”

“ _Hell_.”

John’s office phone rang, and he hit speaker.

“Harri.”

“Hi.”

“Did you-” Both Irene and John answered in the same time.

“ _Yes_.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Did she send you instructions on what to wear?”

“Yes,” Is what John said.

“No,” Is what Harri said. “Wait, what?”

“Harri, would you happen to have a new girlfriend?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s why.”

“Oh, dear.”

Harri, still confused, was starting to sound a little annoyed.

“ _What_?” Irene and John exchanged looks.

“It’s your turn.” Irene sighed.

“Call me when you’re getting ready, I’ll explain then.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

John hung up.

“She told me to bring Mary.”

“She told me to bring Sherlock.”

“She _what_?”

“Yeah. She also told me what she wants Mary in.”

“And not Sherlock.”

“I think she’s read about him enough that she assumes she doesn’t have to worry about him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dude, don’t even. Biologically, she’s yours, not mine.”

“Fine, then how are you going to convince him to come?”

“I think you underestimate a couple things, John.”

“And they’d be?”

“That I can’t get Sherlock to come, and that he doesn’t want to meet my mother.”

~*~ 

Irene had been right, as it just took, “My mom wants to meet you, John and my sister will be there,” for Sherlock to be on board.

John’d taken Sherlock home to get ready (the upside of sharing a flat with him) and Irene went home with Mary. All that it had taken to get Mary on board was 15 seconds walking past her in the hallway and 2 sentences; “You know that green dress of mine that you keep saying you wanna steal? Well, guess _what_.”

Irene was in a red-pink faux wrap dress with black peep toes when Harri called.

“So, why is she calling the dinner?”

“Has mom met your new girlfriend?”

“Yeah?”

“Then she’s testing her.”

“How do you know that?”

“She’s given me, John, and Mary instructions on what to wear, and told me to bring Sherlock.” Irene patiently waited while Harri picked her jaw up off the floor.

“You’re _kidding_.”

“Nope. Mother dearest is testing your girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“Because she wants you to get back with Clara, moron.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“ _Hell_.”

“You want my advice?”

“Please.”

“Do you know what she likes to see you in?” There was a long pause. “In public?”

“Yes.”

“Wear that.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. That way, even if she is drifting, which I’m not saying she is, she will have a hard time doing it.”

“Good point.” She paused. “So, mom’s making me and John bring out dates...”

“Yes?”

“Is Sherlock yours?”

“Good _bye_ , Harri.”

~*~ 

When Irene and Mary got to the restaurant, everyone else was already there, and there were two seats: one next to Sherlock and one next to John. Harri’s girlfriend was pretty, but also sort of engrossed in Sherlock.

When Sherlock saw Irene, the expression on his face was one of relief and...maybe something else, but by then he’d evened out his expression.

“Hey, boss.”

“Irene, you didn’t tell me you’re adopted.”

“Hi, mom.” She swooped down to peck Mrs Watson’s cheek before rounding the table, eyebrow raised. “My brother is John Watson and you haven’t _deduced_ that?”

“Shut up.” Irene smirked.

“You shut up.” She sat down next to him, rolling her eyes at him before smiling across the table at Harri’s girlfriend. “Hi, I’m Irene.”

“Abby.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”

Irene leaned back, and made a conscious effort to stay relaxed when Sherlock leaned in.

“According to your mum, we’re supposed to act like we’re together. And normal.” She turned toward him, wearing a half smile.

“If we’re to listen to the crew, then that’s one and the same.” Both giggled and broke apart. Irene looked up and caught John’s gaze. She raised an eyebrow at his ‘knowing’ look.

“So, John, how’re things going with the costume department?”

She could see Sherlock’s smirk in the corner of her eye as John hastily changed the subject. 

Mrs Watson looked like what Mrs Weasley had been based off of: just with blonde hair. She was also obviously the matriarch; the siblings naturally, almost instinctually going to her to resolve their arguments.

When their food came, Irene rolled her eyes when Sherlock stole food off her plate, and retaliated by stealing food off his.

When Abby started for the bathroom, Irene joined her, ignoring Sherlock’s loud questioning of Mary and Mrs Watson about why girls travel in packs.

Once they got to the bathroom, Irene walked over to the mirror, expecting Abby to use the bathroom and preparing to wait.

That was not what happened.

Irene had just pulled out her Chapstick when she was whirled around and cornered against the counter.

“I think we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“You get me time with your boyfriend and I,” Abby raked Irene’s body with a heated look, “Will repay you.”

“No.”

“Excuse _me_?”

“You heard me. Now back up and go back to the table.” Abby opened her mouth, but it snapped shut when Irene snapped out a, “ _Now_.”

She left, and Irene closed her eyes and groaned, letting her head hit the nearest wall. She didn’t move as the door swung open, and two sets of heels clicked in.

“What happened?” Irene looked up at Mary and Harri. Harri looked pissed, Mary looked worried.

“How did you-” Harri sneered.

“Abby said you were having ‘makeup troubles’. You’re not wearing makeup.”

“She tried to seduce me into giving her time with Sherlock. Apparently, she’s not as lez as you thought.”

“Dammit.” Mary looked worried.

“It’s not your fault-” Irene cut her off.

“That’s not what she’s ‘dammit’ing.”

“I _hate_ it when Mum’s right.” Harri looked at Irene. “You alright?”

“Little wigged out, but it’s nothing finishing my drink and some dessert won’t fix.”

“Alright. We’re playing this cool till we leave, alright?”

“Sure.”

“Fine.”

Harri lead the way out, Irene and Mary flanking her. Abby looked slightly terrified, but covered it up beautifully. Sherlock leaned in again when Irene sat down.

“I could have sworn you weren’t wearing makeup.”

“I’m not. Apparently, she’s a big fan.”

“ _Oh_. Remind me to apologize to your sister.” He leaned back, his voice going back up a normal register. “Dessert?”


	7. Chapter 7

Irene blinked awake. She stared at the glow-in-the-dark set of fall constellations on her ceiling before she realized what’d woken her up; her cell phone. She blindly reached for it, taking a second to take in the time before putting the phone to her ear.

“Wha’?”

“Irene, are you alright?” She recognized that voice: it was half asleep and freaked the fuck out.

“Sherlock?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, except for the fact that it’s,” She glanced at the clock again, “3:35 in the morning. What’s up?”

“I thought you ‘n John were dead. I could hear John through the wall, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why’d you think we were dead?”

“Nightmare.”

“Tell me.”

For the next hour, Sherlock told an increasingly incomprehensible story about his nightmare till he was yawning and the words were slurring.

“G’night, ‘Rene.” Irene, equally tired, smiled sleepily.

“G’night, ‘Lock.”

~*~ 

The next morning, it was business as usual.

Except.

Sherlock took the cardboard cup from Irene as she walked into the script reading, tired but hiding it. He took a script, sat down in his appointed seat, and took a sip of what he _thought_ was his coffee.

It was _actually_ hot chocolate.

He looked up and scanned the room before his eyes stopped on the entirely too innocent looking Irene, who was flipping through the script. A small smile flickered across his face momentarily, and for the rest of the reading, he was much more lenient with his costar’s mistakes than he usually would have been.


	8. Chapter 8

They were shooting on location, and Irene was leaning against a fence. She’d turned up her collar (ineffectually) against the cold a long while ago, but she was still starting to shiver. She blinked in surprise when a familiar blue scarf was looped and tightened snugly around her neck. Her shoulders relaxed gratefully as she raised an eyebrow up at Sherlock.

“Well, if you don’t want it-”

“No, it’s fine.” He raised an eyebrow back and started to walk back. “Thanks, moron.”

She could just see the smirk on his face as he swanned back in front of the camera.

~*~ 

Irene had just fended off the last of the hopeful sponsors and was on her way home to a glass of wine and a bubble bath when her phone rang. Again. It was Sherlock.

 _“Yeeeees_?”

“John got me a cat.”

“How nice of him.”

“It’s a Maine Coon.”

“Awesome.”

“It has me caught on top of the couch.” Irene stopped just outside of the studio, a glorious picture painting itself in her mind.

“You’re _joking_.”

“No. John is staying at your place tonight.”

“I’ll be right over.”

~*~ 

Sherlock was, indeed, balanced precariously on top of the couch when she got there. She quickly snapped a picture before hanging up her bag and jacket.

“Where is he/she?”

“He is under the couch.”

“And how is he keeping you up there?” She watched with thinly contained amusement as Sherlock slowly edged a foot towards the floor, and a couple of dark furred kitty arms swiped wildly, causing Sherlock to shoot back up, using the ceiling and the wall to keep himself upright. “Ah.”

She toed off her heels and walked softly over to the couch, pushing away the coffee table and lying down in front of it. She took off the scarf and balled it up, offering it to the cat to sniff.

“What are you-”

“Giving it something to sniff without showing it my hands.”

“That’s never going to work.”

5 minutes later, Irene was lying on the couch with a purring cat curled on her arm, smirking at Sherlock, who was still perched on the arm of the couch.

“Do I have to?”

“Say it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock sighed a very put-upon sigh.

“I was wrong. You were right. You’re the Queen of the universe, tamer of cats.” He looked down. “Can I get down now?”

“I dunno.” She looked down at the cat, who was purring contentedly. “Did he sound contrite to you, Gladstone?”

“ _Irene_.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“...”

“I’m _waiting_.”

“You’re _joking_.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Sure.” She giggled as he got down, yelping slightly as he collapsed onto the couch. For one heart-stopping moment she thought she was going to fall off the couch before Sherlock latched an arm around her waist and pulled her back.

“You’re welcome.”

“Hmmm.” She lifted her head up so she could use his arm as a headrest, watching the hand that looped over her shoulder start petting the cat.

~*~ 

When Irene woke up the next morning (without opening her eyes; she’d gotten quite good at it. When Sherlock was waiting for you to wake up, it was always amusing to pick the second he looked away to sneek off.) she could tell Mycroft was here by the way Sherlock was tense.

“How domestic.”

“Shut up, Mycroft.”

“Should we be expecting the happy announcement soon?”

“You said the same thing about John; it’s getting a bit old.”

Both men froze when Irene groaned. Gladstone got up, moving over her as she rolled onto her side, towards Sherlock.

“Shut up, Mycroft, and go awaaaay. It’s Saturday.” There was a pause as Mycroft pulled himself together.

“Well, Sherlock-”

“Mycroft. _You. Woke. Me. Up._ Now is _really_ not the time for the witty one-liner as you leave.”

There was the sound of receding footsteps before Sherlock squeezed her.

“That was _brilliant_.”

“Thank you. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Sure.”


End file.
